


the fugitive and the liar

by unkinsei



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Drama, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkinsei/pseuds/unkinsei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ohno steals clothes pegs. Nino tries not to think about socks too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the fugitive and the liar

**Author's Note:**

> More prose than flash fiction.

Ohno makes excuses on a regular basis. No, he will not go home with Nino tonight; he has to have dinner with his parents. No, he won't stay out for a drink; he has other plans (at home, on his couch). No, he will not admit that he's stolen half of Nino's laundry pegs; he is just currently using them on a trial basis before purchasing his own.

No, he won't say yes.

“Ohno Satoshi, you are a coward.”

Says Ninomiya Kazunari, as he runs away from the confronting situation of finding Ohno's socks in his drawer.

If he isn't running away from the incoming onset of domesticity, Nino is running away from the concept of a stable relationship. Ohno didn't particularly create a sense of groundedness; rather it was his spontaneity that was to be anticipated. Let's live together. Let's run away. Let's not care tonight. As is the tendency with these ideas the enthusiasm to follow through dwindled by the time they had expressed their excitement physically, but that too, was to be expected. It is the constancy of this merry-go-round of nothing and then everything and then a lap of excuses that has Nino running and hiding like a newly escaped fugitive. Because the cycle just keeps going like clockwork and clocks don't tend to stop until years pass. But they stop. Eventually. So Nino runs.

“Ninomiya Kazunari, you are a coward.”

Says Ohno Satoshi, as his peg basket becomes a mix of Nino's supremely hi-tech pegs and his ordinary ones.

If one is denying all acts of intimacy and the other is conducting regular sessions of amateur hypnotherapy on himself to forget socks in his drawer, it is a wonder that they ever meet in the middle. As it turns out, they usually meet at the far end of either side of the spectrum. Sometimes, they meet on Ohno’s turf, a place that’s little bit tipsy and hungry for something other than beer snacks. The landscape is dark and more often than not shins meet with furniture corners. In the morning they massage their bruises and hurriedly begin their routine of running and making excuses. If they are on Nino’s turf, it is sober to the point of being surreal. They’re usually in a company van shrouded in darkness as it takes them to their respective apartments. It’s usually Nino who reaches for Ohno’s hand. It’s usually Nino’s apartment where they direct the driver to drop them both at. It’s usually Ohno who leaves behind a T-shirt, a hat, and most recently, a pair of socks.

The hypnotherapy will be showing its effects soon, definitely, Nino assures himself. He learns to snatch socks out of his drawer without looking and slam it shut with uncharacteristic speed. Ohno looks at his clothes pegs and wonders where he went wrong.

“Do you think you’ll be with Ohno and the others?” asks Hatori, as Nino makes up an appropriately cheesy yet meaningful message for himself ten years into the future. If Nino’s mind flickers and recalls all the times that Ohno wasn’t with him, not really, he doesn’t show it.

“It’s not about whether we can or can’t be together,” he replies steadily. “It’s whether they’re here or not.”

“Ninomiya Kazunari, you are a coward.”

Says Ninomiya Kazunari to himself as he lets Ohno’s faded and worn belongings stay scattered around the apartment the same way a sane person would put a nice vase of flowers and a bowl of irrelevant but calming pebbles on a table to give the place some life.

The hypnotherapy doesn’t seem to be working.

“Ohno Satoshi, you are a coward.”

Says Ohno Satoshi to himself as he hangs his boxers up to dry with Nino’s ultra-amazing clothes pegs that give him the greatest of pleasures when pulling them off the line. He’s thrown his ordinary pegs out months ago.

* * *

  
If the hands of the clock are turned manually, spun a few rounds forward with an uncaring finger, Nino can be found in Aiba’s apartment, explaining how to create a much more television-friendly home with a lot of pointing and waving of his arms. He is not thinking about socks. Aiba doesn’t let him.

If the hands of the clock are spun a few more times, Ohno can be found in the ocean. His cell phone has said its last goodbyes and is having a burial at sea; the best ending it could have had, he later decides. He is hoisted back onto the deck, and it’s too cold to be thinking about anything but staying standing on the boat, let alone what the gradual accumulation of Nino’s household goods could mean (the pegs were not the result, but the catalyst; he eventually pilfered a unused magazine rack that spun and made him feel like he was in a store browsing the fishing section, some hand towels that were softer than his ever were, and a mug with a ugly illustration of a dog that just shone out at him).

Sinking into the black ocean, Ohno’s cellphone hopes that perhaps its death will serve a higher purpose.

* * *

  
Turn the clock back, back, back, and Ohno is standing in front of Nino’s hanging laundry. He’s looking at the way pegs have been rationed out amongst the clothes, only a handful remaining.

“Go on, just take all my pegs. You don’t really think it’s just because they’re useful, do you?” Nino’s voice is barely over a mutter, almost drowned out by the electronic orchestral music blaring from one of his televisions. Someone dies on the screen, and a painfully long cry of wounded feelings and game overs can be heard.

“They’re useful,” Ohno insists.

“Then buy your own. Or admit it.” Nino turns off the game and jabs the standby button of the television remote conclusively.

But Ohno can’t, so he grabs the magazine rack and hand towels he had always admired and closes the door behind him.

As often occurs with mutual cowardice, time slows to a crawl. It is impossible for time to sit and hide forever though, so it moves, inching around the clock face on all fours, sneaking back into their lives. Ohno gets a smartphone. He doesn’t ask Nino for his number; instead, he leeches contacts from Jun, who bites back a word of advice.

At work the next day Nino recommends him a fishing game. Ohno downloads it and almosts feels the same fervor and excitement of when he’s really on a boat.

He texts Nino good morning at three a.m. He gets a reply at twenty past four that says, “Good night.”

Ohno beats Nino’s score. Nino starts practicing magic tricks again.

Time gets up from all fours and warily starts walking again. Ohno’s old cellphone rejoices.

* * *

  
“I’ve been thinking about socks.”

“Any in particular?”

“Yours.”

“Well, I’ve got more clothes pegs than I could ever use.”  
  
---


End file.
